It’s LDW DTS and I’m hopeful that this is my year to find love in God’s Basement on dollar beer night (read: Labor Day Weekend down the shore at The Parker House). My roommate assures me that she knows single boys who will be there, and I am in for the win. We grab our dollar beers and do a lap around the bar. She spots said group of guys, who are all tall and cute, and also just as single as I am.
One in particular notices that my beer is empty, hands me a new Bud Light and immediately has my full attention. It’s easy to be generous on dollar beer night (it’s the thought that counts). We chat about how we both live in NYC but spend the summers as far away from the city as NJ transit can take us. When the job conversation comes up, he tells me about his food truck that he owns and runs with his friend. I love talking about food as much as eating it, and am mesmerized that this is his full time job. He had previously quit his 9-5 and was making a living off all things cheese. I play 20 questions and learn everything I can about the cheese, and am excited to taste test when we’re back in NYC. We don’t exchange numbers but that’s okay, maybe I wasn’t on my best game that night.
Two days later, my older brother gets a text “Hey it’s The Cheese, hope its not weird but I asked your friend for your number… was wondering if you’re around this week, would you wanna grab drinks?” My brother, who has a girlfriend and who does not know The Cheese, is confused about why someone is asking him on a date. He is unsure whether he gave off the wrong impression or if it was a potential new client for his freelance job.
When he tells me about this odd Sunday afternoon text, we realize the slight mishap. The Cheese got the last digit of my phone number wrong, which just so happened to lead him to my brother’s phone number, instead of his single sister over here.
As any brother would, he decides to mess with the kid a bit, because why not have some fun with it? His response: “Heyyy Cheese, yeah no prob. You like Olive Garden?”
The Cheese is most likely confused and offended that he has spent hours talking about food with me, and now I have suggested the most generic chain restaurant in Times Square. The Cheese goes along with it, lol-ing and agreeing that they do have great breadsticks (most likely wondering how to get out of this date before it happens). My brother and The Cheese exchange a few more messages until finally my brother gives up the joke and writes back “As much as I’d love to go to Olive Garden with you, I think you’re looking for my sister.”
So now I have no mozzarella, no breadsticks and no boyfriend.